From A Distance

Chapter 3- From a distance

I'd been married to Robert less than a year and I was already alone back in Guildford. My new husband had sent me back to England so he could concentrate on his studies in Northern Ireland and perhaps so he could develop his friendship with Billy unimpeded. Although I missed Robert I was happy to be back at my childhood home and things seemed to be reverting back to normal after the weirdness of life with him.

I became friendly with my brother's ex-girlfriend, Cheryl. She was a pretty, dark haired girl with curls and a winning smile. We enjoyed nights out going to discos and bars in town. I was completely honest with Robert when he phoned, telling him what a good time I was having but he did not have a flair for small talk and would talk at length about dreary technical things to do with his course that made the mind of a nineteen year old girl glaze over. I probably should have been more attentive but it was not easy to listen to someone with verbal diarrhoea. Robert could talk and talk and talk but was not so good at communicating. He was always right and whatever he said, no matter how trivial, he regarded to be of the utmost importance.

Then something very strange happened. Robert turned up on the doorstep, having come all that distance without telephoning or writing to say he would. It seems I had provoked him to abandon his university course and give up his life in Northern Ireland, a considerable amount of upheaval that he had not discussed with me; even as a remote possibility. From then on I wished I had not missed him so much and not been so truthful and loyal. I'd told him about fun I had been having and who I had met but didn't think anything of it. After all, I had been begging him to let me return to Ulster only to be met with cold-hearted comments from him. That was a mistake. I should have known whatever I told him he would want details, interrogating me for hours and asking me over and over again to give him more. Who, when, where, what they were like, did I fancy them. The questions seemed to go on and on, even when there was nothing more that could be said.

I knew I had done wrong, enjoying myself as though I were single, but he had ignored me and treated my pleadings to go back with disdain. The few days he spent with me were not pleasant but I could not forgive myself for hurting him, as I thought I had done, even though I had actually not been unfaithful or intended to be. I watched him as he lost his temper with me, his eyes bulging and his language becoming more extreme. Calling me a whore and the most selfish woman that had ever lived, blaming me for his early departure from university. I was wracked with guilt, crying and asking for forgiveness. I asked him how Billy was and he looked down, shuffling his feet and changing the subject to my bad behaviour. But I didn't even know why he was so unhappy.

He insisted on a forensic analysis of the new friends I had made. He would look at me accusingly and then stare me out with bloodshot eyes and I would blame myself. "I have done this," I told myself, "I have driven him into this maniacal state," tears flowing from my eyes and dripping from my chin. “Stop your blubbing,” he shouted at me, storming off upstairs. By lunchtime I was exhausted, listening to Robert belittling me and stripping me of my dignity.

Then it got even worse. When he came back downstairs he decided to start on my mother. Again, being abusive and twisting whatever personal secrets she had divulged to him. I was appalled, listening to him knowing it was my fault, I had brought him home with me and now he was upsetting my mother. My mother was in tears as Robert continued with his tirade. The more it went on the guiltier I felt. I was frightened of what might happen next. Why did Robert have to shout and be so abusive? I began to wonder if he had a mental problem, then I changed my mind and blamed myself again.

It was my fault, everything that had happened. I was in the wrong and I must make it right. Luckily for my mother she went into the hall, grabbed the phone and rang my brother, Adrian, who was with his girlfriend at her house. The guilt I felt just increased. Now one of my brothers was involved. I thought I couldn't cope. I had to make it better. It was MY FAULT.

My brother was soon back on his Lambretta scooter and Robert suddenly changed tack. My brother certainly wasn't violent but he loved his mother and rushed to defend her. I watched as Robert changed his aggression and became a meek and timid mouse. He put on a pathetic look of frailty and tears as he made for the front door and headed up the road.

He was putting on an act, as though he had taken some tablets. I really thought I was in a thriller. Robert had yelled so loud the neighbours' curtains twitched, heads poking above their sills as they tried to focus outside and what must they have thought when they saw Robert in his underpants and shirt? He'd run out the house in fear of being hit by Adrian who now had to go after him on his scooter and coax him back. All it did was make me feel even more guilty and determined to make it up to my mother and brother, who had been dragged into my dysfunctional relationship with Robert.

Eventually, peace was maintained and Robert calmed down. It was early summer and he had made plans to visit his mother in Ibiza. I was excited, this charming island was not so well known as it is today and not so crowded. I had been punished for socialising whilst Robert studied but at least we were together again and hopefully we could start afresh.